


Shattered Crystal

by bravevesperian



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Blood, M/M, Non-Human Genitalia, Rape, Torture, this is very dark and very graphic.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 04:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20521619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravevesperian/pseuds/bravevesperian
Summary: This is just me answering the question: What did Emet-Selch do to the Exarch to fuck him up that bad? I tried to cover all of his visible injuries and then some...





	Shattered Crystal

**Author's Note:**

> There is just... SO MUCH I wanted to do with this. I feel like I could re-imagine the scenario a hundred different ways and I just might. Consider it a finished one-shot for now, but I might make it a collection of various things that could've gone down in that space of time.

In the dark, it was easy to forget one's place. After standing as a beacon to mankind for so long, being laid low was hard to accept and even harder to process. He had been ready to die. Dying seemed easy. To finally fade from the pages of history-- though that was a bit deluded, wasn't it? He had made his mark on Novrandt in a way that wouldn't soon be forgotten. An entire world's history and course in time altered, all for his ambition. 

An ambition that he wasn't sure would be seen through, now, as he lay somewhere cold and damp, cheek pressed to rough stone by the weight of his ailing body. The Exarch had always hated how stone felt against the veil of crystal wrapped around his skin-- like sandpaper, but there was little he could do for it now. His deep breath sent spikes of pain through what he could only assume was the gunshot wound slowly sapping his life. 

"Oh how the mighty have fallen," The familiar, mocking tone turned his vague melancholy to alarm.

That was right. He had tried to enact his plan to draw the corrupted aether into himself and-- that was all he remembered. He'd heard the gunshot and fallen, but... 

"Emet-Selch." He managed after a moment's struggle. How much blood had he lost? How much would his undying body struggle to repair the damage so far from the Crystal Tower? His mind whirled with his attempt to calculate the outcome, too light-headed to make any rational decision. 

"In the flesh! Or... something like that. Oh, dear-- you don't look so good, Exarch." He lifted his head to try to follow the voice, and found the man standing over him, looking at him like he was examining livestock.

"Aye, though I don't know what you'd expect. Was it you who shot me? It must have been." He continued to speak with that edge of mischief he was so known for. 

"Someone had to stop your embarrassing attempt at a heroic sacrifice. And clearly, your precious Warrior of Light was hardly up for the task. Besides, he's in the business of letting greater men take the fall for him. Didn't you know? Quite the long list of corpses that boy has stepped over. Even longer than yours, perhaps." 

'What do you want with me? I make a poor hostage I'll have you know," The Exarch continued. 

"You're terrible at lying. You should really just give it up. It took a single conversation to get you to tell me all I needed to know. You are more valuable to me than a man about to become a Sineater." That wasn't comforting-- but at least he wasn't going to die here. Probably. 

"Oh? I see. Then I'm afraid I'm no use to you whatsoever. I've no power away from the Tower. You should know this, well." He managed a nasty, biting, _cherubic_ smile. 

"Oh Exarch, you _will_ give me what I want. Whatever I want. Whenever I want it. If I must train you like the pathetic mutt you are, then I will. When I am finished, you will sit at my feet like a good pet, and forget that you ever thought to do otherwise." There was something otherworldly tinting the man's voice, a deep rumble that seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once. 

The Exarch wasn't sure that what he felt was despair, necessarily-- but it was an awful, tangible dread that welled up in him and made his limbs even heavier. 

He remained silent, aware that what he might say was just fuel for the madman's anger. 

"Cat got your tongue?" Emet stooped and yanked viciously at his hood, pulling it back to reveal his face once more. The cowl had fallen back into place at some point amid all his languishing, and he wouldn't stand for it. It offended him. He wanted the Exarch to have nothing to hide behind. 

"Clever," The Exarch managed sarcastically in return, the only thing he could think of that wasn't a giveaway was to simply insult the man's humor. 

The tension of his robe across his collarbones held him up slightly, forcing him to look upon the furious visage before him. The Ascian had once appeared completely docile, even bored-- but now he wore a mask of unrepentant rage that threatened violence. It sent a chill down his spine, though he couldn't say that he was frightened. There was little in any world that frightened the Crystal Exarch. 

"Let us begin.We have some time to while away, until your beloved Warrior of Light comes to call. Ah, but don't think he'll come to rescue you." 

He thought that Emet was being dramatic. He thought that this was all _horseshit_\--

The haze in his mind suddenly cleared with the same _screaming_ sensation as looking directly at the sun suddenly-- only it was internal, it was his _body_. The screaming, he realized a moment later, was him-- as Emet-Selch had plunged his fingertips into the bullet wound in his middle and begun to fish around. The Exarch howled and thrashed, scratching furiously at the man's other arm-- which was braced at the base of his throat to hold him down. 

"Oh give it a rest, I'm trying to _help_ you, you big baby." Finally after what felt like an eternity of agony, the pressure subsided, and Emet looked down at his hand. "Ah, there it is," He commented before tossing aside something that clattered to the ground. It couldn't have been more than a pebble-- 

He realized then, as the pain shifted from unpleasant clarity to a haze of discomfort, that it was the bullet. He was bleeding freely again, and had instinctively pressed his hands to the oozing wound. 

"A blessing you favor red, Exarch. You'd look quite the mess right now, if you didn't. Well. I suppose you won't be any fun in this state..." He sighed and shrugged rather theatrically as The Exarch squirmed, trying to find purchase-- as if he could possibly get up and do anything about it. 

Emet snapped his fingers as he was wont to do, and the pain stopped. 

For a moment, he wondered if he'd just been snuffed out of existence, only to check and find that the damage done by the bullet was in fact completely gone. Why would he heal him? More importantly, it gave him an opportunity. Instead of waiting for the memory of the pain to reside, waiting for his mind to stop panicking, he got to his feet. 

There was a scraping sound as he grabbed his staff from the ground-- and searched his mind for the best spell or incantation for the moment. 

As though the man were shadow itself, the Ascian flickered and then was _on_ him. 

The world spun as Emet-Selch grabbed the Exarch by his hair and one ear, the momentum of his pounce enough to let him turn him around and throw him to the ground on all fours. The force made his head snap forward, forehead connecting painfully with the stone he'd been laying on moments before. He saw red instantly as blood poured from a fresh gash across his forehead, stinging his eyes as he reflexively pressed his hands to it. 

"And here I was, trying to give you a show of good will. Very well, have it your way, Oh vaunted would-be Allagan Emperor." It was all to mock him, and he knew it.

Emet grabbed him by the back of his robes, lifting him with the ease of a sack of potatoes-- and carried him through a pair of towering doors that the Exarch hadn't noticed before. His vision was spinning, and nausea gripped him-- he likely had a concussion. He grimaced and curled in on himself, his shins scraping painfully against pavement as the Ascian trudged on. There was an awful burst of heat and flames, the sound of explosions-- this was no normal place, and he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. 

"This is Amaurot. You wouldn't recognize it. Or perhaps a part of you does. You must be awfully more whole than the average man to have regain so much of your precious ancestral memory. Who you once were, who you are, who you will be," Emet-Selch droned on as he dragged the Exarch through the destruction. 

He grit his teeth to avoid crying out as he was unceremoniously pulled through still smoldering hot coals that singed his robes and threatened to blister his skin almost immediately-- and then they turned from the obvious path towards an ominous looking building made of stone darker than the others. 

The Exarch was certain that parts of his robes had full-on caught aflame, and that the only thing saving him from the sweltering heat was Emet's slow and determined march that dragged him across the intricately laid stonework beneath them. His shins were bleeding and his ankles were surely blistered from the coals he'd been dragged through, but-- he didn't have time to think on it for very long. 

As his eyes adjusted he realized that he had been brought into some kind of chapel. It was dark, and the only light came from various crystal effigies bearing a dark purple hue-- very unlike the light and airy architecture the rest of the place seemed to bear. His attempt at puzzling anything out was interrupted when he was heaved up and dropped so heavily onto his back that he was winded. 

The pathetic display he put on a moment later made him burn with shame, as he writhed and gasped desperately for breath. He was too distracted to see Emet leering over him, watching his struggle as though it were delicious.The Exarch tried not to remember what he'd said-- how he had explained the ease with which he might break him. 

Emet-Selch clicked his tongue as he hopped up onto the wide slab of black marble-- or was it crystal?-- and swung his feet with glee. "Oooh,you do look a mess. Mayhap I ought to help clean you up."

From the far side of the platform, he lifted a vessel and plunged it down to the side-- whence the Exarch could not see. He came back with it and dumped the whole of the pitcher over his face, causing him to splutter and choke as he still struggled for breath. 

Roughly, he tugged at the red outer robe that The Exarch wore until the broach bent and popped and then used the fabric to scrub unceremoniously at the blood on his face. It trickled from the head-wound a bit still, but nothing nearly so much as before. 

He realized with a sinking sense of despair that this was only the beginning. 

"Do you think that I've not made use of your precious plaything whenever you were away from it? I've learned all I could-- save for what's locked away in your head, Archon of Sharlyan: _G'raha Tia_." 

Hearing his true rank and name spoken broke something inside of him, and he found the will to lash out again. As he made to lash out and fight, Emet-Selch rolled on top of him, possessed of both inhuman strength and a weight that seemed impossible for a man his size. He viciously pinned G'raha's arms beneath his knees as he leaned down over him.

"You don't like being unmasked do you? Look at you, you're pathetic, a lesser creature barely more than a beast." He sneered. 

"You're the one who's a beast. You're a monster-- no wonder you're cursed to live as naught but a Primal's thrall." The Exarch sneered right back. 

All at once the world went dark, and he tasted blood. 

It took several long moments for G'raha to realize that Emet-Selch had, without a moment's hesitation, back-handed him at full force. The hit landed so squarely on his face that it seemed to have cut his forehead again from the force alone-- just above his eye.

He fell back, head spinning and limbs refusing to cooperate as the Ascian took his face between his hands. 

"You want to see a _monster_? I could show you even a fraction of my true form and it would tear you apart. Would you like that? You've been waiting oh so long after all. What's it like for a filthy human not to be touched for a hundred years? Surely, it pained you..." 

Sure enough, there was something _wrong_ here-- with him. The Exarch could see and sense many things, but cut off from the source of his power it was much harder. Even with his dulled senses, he could tell that Emet-Selch was bigger than his body. It was disorienting and frightening-- he couldn't have put it into words if he was asked, even with all the scientific method he could muster. 

"You disgust me," He managed to snarl, though he was beginning to feel as though he were painting himself into a very terrible corner.

"Oh? I've only just begun." 

Emet-Selch's monstrous form repulsed him-- but he knew that on some level, as disturbing as it was-- he was just a plaything to this man. He wasn't even a sentient, living being as far as the ancient was concerned. It was all used as an excuse for the atrocities he was willing to employ, sure; but if that was his logic, there was no appeal to reason or morality that would save him. 

His ears went flat against his head as Emet shifted his crushing weight and raised the Exarch's aching arms above his head. A strip of cloth torn roughly from his cloak was used to swiftly bind his wrists tight enough that he couldn't easily move them. With some amount of distaste, he realized that he had then been "hung" upon the spiked crystal of the effigy at the head of the altar he'd been thrown upon-- an image of Zodiark. With is own weight to hold him in place, he couldn't raise up enough to free his arms. 

"As if I weren't already at your mercy," He ground out.

"Yes, yes, but-- you've already proven that your hands are too troublesome for me to bother with. A pity, really. Mayhap if I keep you, I shall relieve you of them permanently. 'Tis your mind alone that I need intact, after all." 

That suggestion seemed to cow the Exarch into silence, and Emet-Selch was darkly pleased with himself. Here was this beloved, vaunted leader of men reduced to writhing in agony-- at his mercy, as he had said before. 

Normally, the Ascian wouldn't take much pleasure in this sort of thing. Normally, he would even make a show of calling such things barbaric. But the game was up, and Emet-Selch was tired of playing nice. He was not a man who was keen on denying himself his desires, and looking at the Exarch like this did _things_ to him. Oh it had been many years, almost as long as it had been for the Exarch himself-- but that all-too-human desire rose up in him and settled, warm and tingling at the base of his spine. Perhaps he'd worn their skin for too long. No matter. 

Brutalizing the Exarch had been fun so far, but he wanted something sweeter, something more sinister-- if he would have the man as his pet, he must begin to endear himself to him; or at least pepper the assault with pleasure. 

"I want to know what you know. I want to know how you crossed the rift with nary a ripple that I could sense. I wish to know your secrets of temporal manipulation. If you give me what I want, I shall give you only pleasure. But perhaps a man like you understands the places where pain and pleasure overlap?" He cooed, suddenly silky smooth despite the dark aura-- the way he seemed to shift and stretch as though his skin could not contain him. 

"Ugh--" It was a shudder compounded with disgust that made the Exarch's entire body shiver, his tail electrified in an embarrassing show of his distaste. 

Emet-Selch had gone disturbingly quiet, his only reaction a chuckle as G'raha strained against the makeshift restraints. Even his crystalline arm did little to avail him now. With demented glee, the Ascian pushed his robe, sash and all, up to his chest, causing the voluminous fabric to pool on his chest and under his chin. Through it all, his head throbbed miserably from the multiple wounds he had sustained as his immortal body sluggishly tried to repair itself despite being cut off from the Tower. 

That awful quiet, save from the occasional rumble from outside had begun to make the Exarch feel as though he were going to lose his mind-- and he could not afford to lose his desperately reassembled composure. Even with all of his control in place, he could not stop his quickened breathing or the thrashing of his tail. 

"Now, seeing as I have seen fit to ah... proverbially unmask you, 'Tis only fair that I afford you a courtesy. That you might know who owns you-- I am _Hades_. Do not forget it."

G'raha's expression hardened even as he tried to ignore the goosebumps pouring over his flesh from the brush of Emet-Selch's gloved hands over his stomach. He felt him marking out the shape of the edges of where the crystal had transformed and covered his skin, spreading over him like a glittering corselet. At least his internal organs were safe; eternally protected by their crystalline barrier and the magicks within. His mind however, was a different story.

"You do not own me, Emet-Selch. You never will." He snarled against his better judgment. 

"Hm." The Ascian curled his lip in vague distaste and shifted forward suddenly. 

It happened so fast that G'raha was not entirely sure that he made his movements in normal, corporeal space. He was once again straddling the Exarch's chest, one hand working at the buttons of his coat, and then his slacks underneath. 

"We shall see," Came the answer dripping with confidence. 

He saw those gloved fingers reaching for his face, and so G'raha grit his teeth, locking his jaw with as much force as he could muster. 

"Open up." The command was short and clipped, the haunted madness in Hades' eyes something unlike he had ever witnessed. 

The Exarch refused him, and the Ascian's other hand came up to jam the fingers of the hand he had bloodied before against G'raha's lips. He tried to keep him out even when his jaw screamed at him, and Emet Selch clawed at him, pushing inside until A shout of pain forced the Exarch's lips apart. He tasted blood, knowing from the stinging pain that the corner of his mouth had suffered the most, and was split open now. 

Hades shifted his hand to squeeze his jaw, pressing inward to keep him from closing his mouth even as he lifted his slender hips, presenting his all-too-human seeming erection. It was obscene, utterly lewd-- but G'raha had already suffered enough to know that if he tried anything he would not come out unscathed. 

Ruby eyes stared down his nose, a frustrated sound that was more a whimper leaving him.

"If I feel your teeth, I'm going to start breaking fingers. I wonder how that crystal cracks under enough pressure..." He cooed. 

The Exarch's brow knitted, a look of horror and disgust frozen on his bloodied features as Emet-Selch roughly shoved his cock into his mouth. 

He let out a low chuckle, a shudder of delight passing through him as he buried himself to the hilt inside of G'raha's mouth. Finally, he met no resistance-- his threat enough to cow the man into re-thinking his options. Finally, he was getting somewhere.

Emet gracefully pushed his coat back behind him, wanting a good view of the sight before him even as he smirked at the sound of the Exarch gagging and choking. He struggled for breath, but the Ascian did not pull out. He watched as involuntary tears sprang up in his eyes as he fought and struggled. Only when he began to kick and thrash in his desperation did he withdraw, and only part way. It was more fun to watch G'raha slobber and gasp around his dick than it was to let him have a moment to regain himself.

Hades leaned forward and grabbed a handful of the Exarch's hair, holding him firmly in place as he began to fuck into his mouth at a more steady pace, the cacophony of lewd noises it ripped from the smaller man echoing off of the sanctuary's dark stone walls. Above them, the ugly effigy of Zodiark stared down, unmoved. 

G'raha was certain at the rate he was going that he was going to cum like that just to make him choke on it-- but when his coughing and gagging induced a nose bleed, Emet sighed and withdrew, his cock hovering against the swollen cupid's bow of the Exarch's lips. 

"You pitiable things are so easy to break. What a shame." He said, actually slightly out of breath. 

G'raha panted for breath, no longer caring or able to do anything for the saliva and tears pouring down his face. The ache of his jaw outdid the throbbing of his head for he moment, and he blacked out suddenly. For several moments he was blessed with a reprieve until another ceremonial pitcher of icy water was dumped over his head. 

"I think not. You're not checking out on me, not yet. I want to see your face." Hades snarled, and again he was given the impression that there was more of him there than just the human body they had seen. 

This time, he did give G'raha some chance to recover-- but only whilst he removed his gloves and peeled him out of his small clothes. 

"I don't believe it-- what a _treat_" The voice seemed far away as he blinked blearily at his tormentor and swallowed another mouthful of the blood dripping down his throat. 

"You aren't as chaste as you try to appear, now are you Exarch? If something like that could make you start to get hard..." The shame on his face at the announcement was delicious. 

G'raha turned his head, trying to hide his face against his arms. He tried to press his thighs together, but he was weak in the position he'd been forced into, unable to use anywhere near the full strength of his muscles. 

He twisted and thrashed, but was unable to stop Emet-Selch from prying his legs apart with both hands. Once more, he began to speak as he shifted and settled between the Miqo'te's legs, his tone pleasant and conversational. G'raha panted for breath from the exertion-- the work of fighting back. 

"Now, now. You'll make a very sweet pet. While others might see your corrupted body and think you a freak, I see only the shade of the glorious Empire I once fostered. Lovely, quite stunning. Worry not, I shall show you that I am not a selfish lover. You shall be begging me for more, begging me to _keep_ you when I'm done." He mused. 

"Shut up," The Exarch snapped through gritted teeth.

"Aye... for the moment I can find other activities to which I might put my mouth to use." 

G'raha's scoff became an involuntary moan, as all the agony he'd already experienced was suddenly replaced by a wave of pleasure. He watched the top of Emet-Selch's head as he began to move, cheeks hollowed as he sucked roughly on the Exarch's dick. If he wasn't hard before, he certainly was now-- and he hated himself for it. The mottled mix of crystal and natural skin didn't seem to daunt the Ascian in the slightest. 

It felt good. It felt _amazing_. G'raha couldn't remember the last time he'd been touched. For so long, he'd been a bastion of self control, as unchanging and immortal as the Tower that he had become one with. The thought of such pleasure had become nearly foreign to him, save for in the scant moments he might have to himself, and even those were laced with shame and guilt. 

The last time... well-- it came to him in a flurry of remembrance. Biggs, chief of the Garlond Ironworks and a whirlwind of bittersweet memories-- being thrown over the massive man's shoulder like some conquest, and laughing, _laughing_ with delight at a bright spark in a dark, dying world-- 

He was jerked from his pleasant reverie by the velveteen sound of Emet-Selch laughing. 

G'raha looked down at him, shivering and desperately trying to keep his voice to himself. 

"There's no one left to save you, Exarch. Your beloved warrior of warriors is half way to becoming a Sineater by now. 'Tis just you and me, and all of our long, long eternity ahead of us. Get comfortable, won't you?" 

He knew that something had already broken, like a switch being flipped. G'raha bared his teeth, but only to stifle a soft cry as Hades gave him a rough stroke with one hand. He cursed his nature, the easy way with which tears built in his eyes. It had always been something of a weakness. 

As Emet shifted again, nudging the Exarch's thighs further apart, he noted the hopeless dip of his head, the weak way he slumped in his restraints. Perfect-- already, he was getting results. He lifted his head with his thumb and forefinger, pressing a kiss to his cheek that became wet from the tears on his cheeks. 

"Such a sweet boy. It seems you've forgotten your sharp tongue, though. That is all well and good. You'll have no need of it any longer." 

And Hades gripped G'raha Tia's hips to pull him down on his cock all at once. 

What had been a mask of placid defeat ignited with a howl at the white-hot _pain_ that shot up his spine. G'raha's back arched as he tried to use his arms to pull himself up and away from the intrusion. It hurt. It was too much. How _big_ was the bastard? 

"Ah, I'm afraid that this flesh does little to hide my true nature. I apologize. But-- I'm sure you can take it." 

Whatever _it_ was felt slithery and wet, blessedly not the dry agony he had expected. He only became alarmed when the sensation persisted, caressing his cock that had started to lose its vigor from the pain and humiliation. 

He could've asked what the hell was going on: What _was_ Emet-Selch aside from clearly, an Ascian, a threat: A great evil-- but there was hardly any room in his fraying mind for such things. The initial pain had faded to numbness, and as the thing inside of him curled and twisted in just the right way-- was overridden by pleasure. 

"AH--!" The sound had been involuntary.

"Mm, ah yes, there it is." A throaty chuckle that again seemed to emanate not only from Hades' mouth but from... around him-- punctuated the comment. 

Pleasure. It was there and a welcome escape to the cuts, burns, and scrapes on his body. He would have to ignore his shame but anything was better than that. Anything. G'raha forced himself to open his eyes again and watched as Emet-Selch moved his hands up his torso to roughly grope his chest. 

The thing squirming around his dick was almost better than Emet's mouth-- a relentless stimulation combined with whatever was pressing against that spot inside of him over and over. He felt himself dripping in time with the thrusts, the constant assault against the bundle of nerves inside of him absolutely maddening. Several times-- now, over and over, he'd thought he was about to come from the sheer precision of the Ascian's ministrations, only to stop short.

"You're making a mess, little one. I wonder how much I can milk out of you before you lose all sense--" 

G'raha coud feel his own precum pooling on his stomach. He had forgotten to monitor his voice and breathing. How long had he been moaning and whimpering, keening like he was in heat-- somehow, the sound of his own voice echoing off of the stone walls of the dark sanctuary made him want more. 

Maybe what Emet-Selch was saying was true. Maybe the Warrior of Light wasn't coming for him. He couldn't resolve himself to dying in vain, not while hope still lived; but he wasn't sure he had the strength to resolve himself to an eternity of this torment, either. What could he do? What hope was there but to give in to Hades in hope of avoiding more temporal suffering for the moment?

The muscles in his thighs trembled and fluttered as Emet-Selch pitched forward, his hands braced on the stone altar beneath them as he began to grow more and more impatient; more greedy with his thrusts. 

This Exarch was hardly a replacement for what he had lost-- but he would do as a pet. Once he broke him, he would have the wealth of knowledge that he had gleaned somehow unbeknownst to him at his disposal. There were things that he must understand for the sake of his grand scheme, for Zodiark's reawakening. Yes-- for Zodiark, he told himself.

He smirked as he felt G'raha tighten his legs around his hips, felt his heels dig into the small of his back as he thrust wildly into him, the pleasure a better drug than any of the others throughout the ages he had managed to play around with. He'd already turned him-- just enough to have him moaning and rutting wildly against his true form. 

His human cock was fun. It had been a lovely introduction-- but slipping into a sliver of his true form was just so much more enjoyable, so much more visceral and direct. 

One hand shifted suddenly to brace against G'raha's throat. His eyes shot open, fear and a moment of confusion present. He wasn't quick enough to mask either, even as Emet's face split in a wild grin and he began to _squeeze_.

G'raha wheezed and squeaked, desperate for breath as his muscles tensed and flexed involuntarily. It drew a low groan from the Ascian. He let up just enough for a few gasps of breath to give him the rush of an oxygen high-- and shuddered with delight as he felt the Exarch orgasm nearly immediately. 

But-- he just couldn't bring himself to stop. He felt the crystal gorget that adorned the man's neck begin to crack. He felt his body starting to go slack, his eyes beginning to bruise-- but Emet-Selch refused to let go of his own hunt for pleasure. It was a lucky thing that he came a few moments later, as the Exarch's body likely wouldn't have handled much more. 

"You fractured things are so... pitiably exhaustible." He repeated, though it was clear that G'raha had lost consciousness and would not hear him.

Emet shifted his bonds slightly, that he would be able to lay still and not lose circulation, at least for now-- and left him there, bound upon the altar. He still had work to do to prepare for the main event. His crafted memory of the last days was in need of tweaking, and the dirty work must be done. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Oops," Emet snickered as his hand came away with part of the gilded white auracite that decorated the Exarch's now tattered robe. The gold finding scattered onto the floor like marbles, glittering for a moment before the dark corners of the room swallowed them whole. 

Oh, he looked absolutely haggard now-- and Emet himself had lost track of how much time had passed since he'd whisked him away. He had slipped his grip this time, but used a handful of the man's blessedly loose robes to toss him face down onto the stones a moment later. 

He continued to fight, and every time he rewarded him with blood. Oh, but he melted as soon as it came to the more gentle ministrations that the century had starved him of. 

"You never learn do you," Emet hissed as he approached the languishing Exarch and grabbed him by the hair. He seemed to have hit his head and was bleeding yet again but-- no matter. His face was bloodied by his own defiance. 

A cry of pain and frustration left the Exarch as he gripped him by the hips and drew him up to his knees, though his face remained buried against the cool stones of the floor.

"Have it your way, but it doesn't _have_ to hurt you know, my pet." 

He seemed to have given up his smart remarks some time ago, replaced instead by feral snarling-- when he wasn't sobbing as he was now. Hades had expected to be put off his conquest with how low he'd managed to lay him, but something about his incessant weeping just made him so _hard_.

By now, he hardly bothered with teasing or preparation. Hades merely plunged into the already welcoming mess of blood and cum and took all that he could. He watched as G'raha clawed at the floor, useless and desperate as he wept and twitched, the remnants of their previous coupling oozing out with each vicious push to drip down his inner thighs. They too, were marked with bruises and bite marks.

All the while, G'raha refused to heal himself. If he was cut off from the source of his power, then he would use all he had and more when the time was right. Then and only then. His body-- his pain was nothing if he could not perform a summoning or sending if push came to shove. 

He could feel himself about to come again-- he couldn't count how many times. He was so sore, so raw-- and if he opened his eyes, all he could see was the dead-eyed idol of Zodiark staring down at him. 

"Oh, _oh_\--" A sudden exclamation from Emet-Selch distracted him, but whatever he was about to say was disrupted by the low snarl he made as he filled the Exarch with yet another load. His euphoria had him breaking down into chuckles as he reached around and-- as though it were a totally thoughtless action-- stroked his prey to completion. 

It left G'raha writhing and exhausted, dripping more bodily fluids than he wanted to count. Only then did the reason for his captor's outburst become clear. 

"A disturbance in the Aether. Oh how brilliant your beloved hero shines. I wonder what they'll all think of you, finding you like _this_." 

A disturbance, indeed. He'd spent the Exarch. He was hardly more than a shell. A body to fuck and tuck away until he wanted him again. In the days locked in their own private hell, it seemed that Emet-Selch had spiraled even deeper into his madness. 

He rocked back into a crouching position as G'raha curled on his side, wheezing for all the damage done to his throat. Half-dead ruby eyes stared, glazed and unfocused in the Ascian's general direction. 

"Wait... The damnable Scions were not to be part of this bargain." He said it under his breath, as if he were the only one in the room. 

"No matter." He scoffed. "I suppose I have to leave you to your own devices... not that you've any left. If you can move at all, you will not go far." He sneered. Only then did he bother to tuck himself back into his trousers and fix his coat. 

"You will see me again soon enough, my pet-- when I've made short work of these interlopers. For now, my home is your own personal hell. You shall find no entry or exit point, even if you manage to look." 

G'raha felt that he was right, for the moment anyway. He remained on the floor, and let the cold blackness of unconsciousness claim him once more.   
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You are a broken husk, nothing more. How can you hope to stand against me alone?" Emet's voice rang out in the darkness. 

It had taken all the strength G'raha could muster to pull himself from the crumbling ruin of Zodiark's temple and follow the party to this terrible, liminal space but he had managed it. 

"Not alone. We stand together." He imagined, still hoarse-- his staff barely holding him up. 

Emet-Selch turned towards him, genuine surprise on his features. 

"How'd you-- I'm surprised you can stand at all!"

"I could not well leave matters half finished." 

Emet's eyes narrowed, suspicion clear. Now, it seemed he was the one who was trapped and uncertain. It bolstered G'raha's strength. 

He plummed the depths of his power, of any shadow of the Crystal Tower's connection to him that he could reach and raised his staff. 

"Let expanse contract. Eon become instant. Champions from beyond the rift-- heed my call!" The energy flowed from his staff and into the air, splitting the boundaries between space and time themselves as he completed the incantation. 

"Damn you, _damn you all!_" The roar of the Ascian's fury was beyond satisfying. 

With all that he had left, he summoned forth heroes from other worlds. Everything he had suffered, the indignation, the humiliation would be worth it. Like this-- he was certain that his hero would win.


End file.
